Goddess on Vacation
by ChaosLightning13
Summary: I decide to go on vacation from my job as Goddess of Death, and get stuck helping MacGyver hunt for Murdoc's protege. I'm not to happy about this, and keep wishing that I had my old pet assassin back to help me.
1. Out of the Frying Pan

A/N (2/17/05): What do you get when you take Lightning, steal her books, and give her Stargate, Star Wars, and MacGyver—in that order? Well, this. Mind, this is sort of the third or fourth installment of a running crossover series I've had going in my head, but it's the first one I wrote down, so it's the first one I'm typing. If y'all enjoy it, I might just type the first ones as well—and the sequel, which involves some psycho mini pirate assassins who want to take over the world.

Oh, by the way, there are a few things to know if you want to understand this story. It's sort of a continuation of my Stargate fanfics, so if you're reading those (er, that one, at the moment), you'll get a sneak peek into what will happen in the future. I'm a Tok'ra (sort of; it's hard to explain). I've sort of taken the place of System Lord Kali. It's a new way of fighting the Goa'uld. When SG-1 kills a Goa'uld, I take over that Goa'uld's Jaffa armies. That way, no mean Goa'ulds rise in power. Other than being a Tok'ra, I'm also a Jedi knight. Yeah, I know, getting Mary-Sue-ish. But it made a great story. ("Where have you been?" "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.") If you stick with the Stargate fanfics, I should get around to typing it eventually. Stargate/Star Wars crossover. I was trying to avoid a MacGyver crossover, but I just couldn't resist. And anyways, I figured people might like it. If I get good reviews, I'll type the other ones. If not, I'll probably continue with this story just for my own pleasure, but might not post it.

I'd had it. I try to take a break from this whole System Lord thing—I mean, being Goddess of Death is wonderful and all, but all the bowing and scraping gets on my nerves after a while, and my slaves were so damned _neat_—they wouldn't let me have a decent clutter—and look where I end up. Here, on Earth, doing some stupid job for the stupid government. As if they thought they could order me around. Well, they couldn't. I'd only taken the job because there were lives at stake. So I'd gone to the stupid safe house to decode the stupid disc so that the stupid people would be caught and brought to justice before they could kill any more people. Of course, some stupid co-conspirator decided to take matters into his own hands and try to kill me. Not a good idea. I mean, I'm a wonderfully forgiving person and all—my evil twin had tried to kill me once, and I'd set her up as queen of one of my planets—but I was trying to take a vacation, for God's sake.

Anyhoo, I was talking about this guy who tried to kill me. Well, he didn't stand a chance. He did manage to catch me, I'll give him that much, but he was nowhere near Murdoc's expertise, and I'd managed to catch Murdoc. Twice. Even managed to kill him, the second time. Probably. Definitely. No one could survive two blasts from a zat'nikatel. No one. Not even Murdoc. And I'd shot him at least twice. Must have shot him three times, actually. They never found the body.

But this guy who was after my blood. He'd caught me, alright. Trapped me in a cage, in fact. Fired up the bars so I got a shock every time I touched them. Probably thought he was real clever. Me, I thought he needed to be introduced to my old buddy MacGyver. Not that such a thing would be very easy to arrange. MacGyver lived on Earth, but it wasn't in this reality. Oh, plus the MacGyver I knew lived at a different time. He was still alive in twenty whatever it was (I'd lost track of the years on Araynos, and hadn't bothered to ask when I got to Earth), but I traveled back in time to somewhere in the nineteen nineties whenever I went to see him.

Why can't I stay on topic? It reminds me of my old AP Bio class back in high school. We could be talking about the material we were supposed to be learning, and two minutes later the conversation would be about Dracula or picking up naked hitchhikers or the gifted seminar the other day on crack whores.

Anyhoo. This was definitely a situation for MacGyver. Him and his pocketknife. I'd actually taken to carrying around a pocketknife since I met him. It was one of those sparkly blue ones that said "Goddess." Not very useful, at least not in the MacGyver sense, but after I'd sharpened it, the thing had a good blade. I kept it in my boot. Stupid guy had searched me, but not hard enough. Probably never read fantasy when he was a kid, or the first place he'd think to look for weapons would be the boot. That's where fantasy assassins always hide their knives.

I spent about two minutes in that cage, first getting myself electrocuted and then waiting for him to look the other way, before I made my move. Grabbed the knife out of my boot and opened it is what I did. Hefted it a bit. "Hey Stultus," I called. Stupid guy that he was, he looked. I didn't even have to take aim. I threw the knife through the bars and hit him in the eye.

Now don't be getting any ideas about my accuracy. I suck at throwing things. Give me a bow and arrow and I can hit a bull's eye easy, but when it comes to throwing, go find someone else. And it wasn't luck. Although I do tend to be very lucky—how could I not be, since I was born on Friday the 13th—I wasn't going to trust this one to luck. No, I had a secret weapon. It's called the Force. Great thing, the Force. Sit vis vobiscum. May the Force be with you. It was even better than those old energy field devices I used to use. Those I could never really trust not to give psychic powers to the people around me. The Force, on the other hand, worked only for me. I was the only Jedi knight in this galaxy, as far as I knew.

After that it was just a matter of figuring out how to get out of that stupid cage. Not too hard, actually. Use the Force to bend the bars apart and slip through, and I was home free. Only I wasn't, not really. People could still find me, if they wanted. Jack could always talk me into doing anything, if he really wanted me to. I'd have to bail. Go somewhere they couldn't find me. The problem was, they could find me anywhere in the galaxy—and the Asgard could find me in any of the nearby galaxies as well. What I needed was a whole new universe. An entirely different reality. Preferably one that already had a trouble-shooter so I'd be able to take a break.

Hello MacGyver.


	2. Into the Fire

A/N (2/18/05): Oh, yeah, by the way. The me in this story is married to mini-Jack. Just fyi. It's not even really important to the story, but it's part of my Stargate stories, which I should really get typed and posted, so since this one is just Stargate-me going into MacGyver-reality, well….

Ever have one of those days when you think God hates you and wants you to die? Me, I tend to have them all the time. It seems that every time I try to take a vacation, events begin to conspire against me. Everybody needs my help. I thought for sure this time that I'd escaped all that. I mean, MacGyver could handle anything that came up, right?

Wrong.

I stepped through Omalya's Gate into an exact replica of the SGC. Or rather, it _was_ the SGC, just in another reality. I had to go through Omalya because that wonderful planet is what allows me to jump realities without using a quantum mirror. It had something to do with a naked singularity. I tried discussing it with Carter once, but Jack told us to shut up before our brains exploded.

I half-expected to run into an iris at the other end. Then I'd have a permanent vacation. Probably someplace very warm, but hey, I liked warm. It was better than Antarctica, which is where I'd ended up the first time I dialed home from Omalya with the idea that I deserved a little break. But this SGC didn't have an iris.

"I _told_ you people to get an iris!" I said to the airmen who were pointing their guns at me. Oh, but the Stargate only went to Abydos. I'd _told_ them it went elsewhere, _told_ them that I'd been elsewhere through it, but they'd decided to argue about it and I'd been in a hurry to get home. MacGyver had interrupted me in the middle of trying to track down Anubis. Damn that lord of the dead, anyways. He was almost worse than Murdoc when it came to coming back from the dead. This time, though, I was pretty sure I'd trapped him for good.

"Put your guns down, men," said General Whatshisface. Sendoy or some such thing. I never was too good at remembering names. "Welcome back, Miss O'Neill."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I said. "I'm looking for MacGyver. Any idea where he's staying these days?"

From the SGC I took a plane to California, then went straight to MacGyver's apartment. "Hey Macky-boy!" I yelled, banging on the door. "Open up!" There was no response. Okay, so he wasn't home.

I was not going to be thwarted. I still had my pocketknife in my boot. They hadn't found it when I ran my boots through airport security. I took it out and picked the lock. Wonderful little trick I'd learned way back when I was sixteen and had perfected in Military Intelligence.

As I let myself inside, the phone began to ring. Wonderful. I ran to answer it. "Hello. MacGyver residence. If you're a thief, this is not a good time. This apartment is currently protected by a security system, namely, me. Who may I ask is calling?"

"Uh, this is Pete Thornton of the Phoenix Foundation. Who are you?"

_Oh, hi, Pete. I know you but you don't know me._ "MacGyver's imaginary friend. You can call me Lightning." Lightning was my nickname, starting back in tenth grade, when I was fourteen. I hadn't used it very much since starting West Point, but I'd still respond to it, and at the moment I didn't feel like giving my real name. So far I hadn't met the me from this reality, and frankly, I didn't want to.

There was a pause, as Pete mulled that over. "Is MacGyver there?"

"Nope."

"Where is he?"

"No idea."

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"Nope."

"Well, if you see him, tell him I have an assignment for him."

Ah, the wonders of not being from this reality. If it had been my reality, I might have gotten stuck with the job. Just like I got stuck with preventing a war between the US and Russia when my evil twin was stirring up trouble.

Curious, I asked, "What sort of assignment?"

"That's—"

"—classified, of course," I interrupted smoothly. "Don't worry. MacGyver gave me clearance when I helped him track down Murdoc." Oh, God, I should not have said that. Now he was going to ask me—

"That was you? Great! Maybe you could give MacGyver a hand on this job."

_Oh, no. No no no no no. I am not going to help you track down some spies in another country, or decode something, or—just no._ "Yeah, sure," I heard myself say. _No! This is supposed to be a vacation!_ "But you still haven't told me what it is."

"We've identified one of HIT's operatives. We think Murdoc may have trained him. He certainly has Murdoc's style."

"Damn Murdoc, anyway. He refuses to die, and then when he _does_ die he manages to reach out from the grave and cause even more problems. You've got to admire him, though. He'd have made a great replacement for Nai'óbí."

"Nai'óbí?"

"Nevermind." I had a feeling that it wasn't a good idea to try to explain Nai'óbí to Pete. Pet assassins probably wouldn't go over too well with him. And the whole reading the mind thing, well, he wasn't too likely to believe that.

Reading the mind? you ask. Yeah, well, that's difficult to explain. The short version of it is, I can read minds. As in telepathy. Not all minds; only some minds. Only people from Omalya. It has to do with that naked singularity again. Luckily, Nai'óbí just so happened to be from Omalya.

I hung up.

"MacGyver!"

MacGyver stopped dead in the doorway and stared at me. "Oh, good, it's you." He resumed motion.

Well, of course it was me. Who else would it be? Murdoc? He was dead. For good.

"What are you doing in my apartment?"

"I'm trying to take a vacation," I replied. "Guess how long _that_ lasted." I didn't even wait for him to respond before I continued. "Less than a day. I walk in the door and Pete Thornton calls to give you an assignment, and before I know it I'm recruited." MacGyver looked like he was about to ask what the assignment was, so I said, "We're supposed to be tracking some assassin. Murdoc's apprentice or some such thing."

"How did you get _into_ my apartment?"

Oh. So that's what he'd wanted to ask. "I picked the lock, of course. Like my pocketknife?" I showed it to him.

He took in the blue, the sparkles, and the word Goddess, and gave me one of those incredulous looks I get so very often. "Goddess?"

"It's a quaint conceit, I'll admit. But the knife is useful, now that I've sharpened it. It used to be the dullest knife I'd seen in my life. But now it's good. It took out that psycho assassin dude who was trying to kill me. And it picked your lock."

"Somehow it just doesn't go with the image I'd formed of you. Weren't you wearing fatigues last time I saw you?"

"Don't remember. So, MacGyver, you got any ideas on tracking this guy?"

"If he's anything like Murdoc, he'll probably come after me, in order to prove he's better than his teacher."

"Of course he will. The question is when."

"You sound like you have a plan."

Of course I had a plan. It just wasn't a very good plan. "Maybe. I was hoping you had a better one."

"What's your plan?"

"I spy on HIT to find out when this guy is going to come after you." There were more details, but they would take a while to explain.

"That's the plan?"

"Elegant in its complexity. Hopefully I'll manage to get enough info to take out HIT once and for all. That way maybe next time I come here looking for a day off I might actually get to take a break."

"You sure you can handle it?"

"Nope," I said cheerfully. "That's why I was hoping you could come up with something better."


End file.
